


Twilight of Blood

by StormBlue



Series: Twilight of Blood Collection [1]
Category: Warhammer Fantasy
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bisexual Female Character, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-06-05 13:15:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15171521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormBlue/pseuds/StormBlue
Summary: With Mannfred barely escaping death a second time, he finds his only allies are a blind necromancer and a former Khornate. Weakened and in need of power, he dances to the tune of deception, but he’s not the only one in need of the necromancer. She has a set of tomes he needs, but so does someone else…





	1. The Next Great Novel

**Author's Note:**

> Written as part of a three chapter commission that will eventually have more written for. Mini OC bios below. Rated as explicit just in case.
> 
> Scum: A blind necromancer who was the victim of the witch hunt and seeks revenge against her hometown of Gerhof for the incident. Her goals have been almost entirely focused on finding Mannfred's trail after they heard of his dark rise in Hel Fenn. Upon finding him, he is convinced to go with her and Skadi to exact this revenge in exchange for a series of tomes Scum had hidden. 
> 
> Skadi: A former Khornate and functioning bodyguard for Scum. She often butts heads with Mannfred and her past is shrouded in mystery. Her war horse Harpy drives the black coach.

While the rough hewn table he sat beside did not suit him, the finery he had slipped on after waking certainly did. While he was sure that Skadi had helped the blind necromancer select these robes, her hand had obviously been the one to ultimately decide on them. They were deep purple velvet, chased with gold and accented by white rabbit fur about the neck in a way that resembled his old war plate. It was not something anyone would find in Hel Fenn, which meant the two of them had gone out of their way to buy this specially for him. It was flattering, really. Very flattering and he drank it in hungrily. Oh, he knew this was bare bones sucking up, but what vampire’s ego did not swell when his minions spoiled them so?  

He grinned, displaying small ivory daggers as black tipped claws gingerly ran over the flared white cuffs and flowing fabrics. Flamboyant, but it was a vampire’s right and pleasure to dress the part. The armor he had been slain in no long belonged on his body. Mannfred was too proud to wear rags and the glaring slit in the breastplate leered at him, reminding him just where the scar marring his chest came from. No, the robes with its opened front and luscious, embroidered sashes would do just fine.  

Now, for the tome that sat on the dinning table. The skin bound literature was Scum’s. The necromancer’s first tome from a set if he recalled. Mannfred had gone over the information twice over and drained it of magic, but found little he didn’t already know. Still it was something and if the bald woman had managed to get something useful out of it, then he would too.  

The clattering of the black coach’s yoke could be heard out in the front yard. Yard, in this sense, described a soaked plot of soil. Pressed up against the edge of the bog, the house teetered on what little dry ground this stinking hole had to offer. Harpy snarled, taking offense to being chained, but really only put up a token resistance. It was a game she liked to play at times, that damned horse. In his opinion the mare was blessed with a little more intelligence than he was necessarily comfortable with. To the point where he was positive she was teasing him at times. He caught her red lamp gaze through the grime smeared windows and glared at her. She gladly returned the gesture, lifting up her lips to display her teeth in a mockery of a smile. Mannfred snorted and turned away.  

Bustling around her at a slower pace than normal, Skadi was weighed down by fresh leather armor and war tunic with the weapons harness to match. While she would never wear anything fancier than simple leather and pelts, the brute did, sometimes, let Scum pick out something actually presentable. Even her wild mane of blonde hair had been temporarily tamed and pulled back away from her scalp with beaded braids. So far no sign of Scum herself. The other young woman could be heard in the bedroom, bare feet tramping gently across the olden wooden floors.  

Getting gussied up for him, no doubt. There was a small yelp as the necromancer struck something before the door creaked open. He almost, almost laughed. Of course she would buy herself something that matched his outfit. Of course she would.  And the shy, but completely amused smile she wore told him she knew too. “N-Not too horrible, I hope? I know I don’t clean up well, but…” 

He turned his snort into a snigger. “Certainly better than Skadi.” 

Scum sneered playfully and placed her incomplete fists on her hips. “Hey, I tried with her! Norscans are not a very lady like people to begin with, you know.” 

He stood then, gliding across the floor. Mannfred was similarly barefoot, his feet clad instead in a pair of spats that freed his claw tipped toes. Thus, his approach was soundless and Scum started when she found Mannfred’s hand stroking her cheek, eyeing the woman appraisingly. 

“Yes, yes…” He purred, the index finger brushing over the edge of her burns. “You’ll do fine. Just fine.” 

Scum gave a nervous, excited chuckle as her hands fidgeted with the length of double wrapped chain about her waist, unknowingly pulling the shoulder bands of her dress closer together. To say that she dressed far less conservatively than her savage friend was sort of an understatement. Being blind as she was, the woman cared little about how much skin she let peek through, with only her chest and hips completely covered. And, of course, tactful slits in both allowed plenty to be displayed regardless. Not that he minded. In fact, he much preferred it. Scum was not a bad looking woman at all despite what the necromancer always told him. Ample, but not too robust. Lean in other places, but not skinny. Whatever she didn’t find flattering or comfortable, she merely covered it up and let the rest speak for itself, it seemed.  

But, down to business. “Come closer, I have some questions I need to ask of you.” 

Scum’s brows rose under the blindfold, but she stepped forward cautiously regardless, feeling her way to a chair so she could sit and give him her full attention.  

“Where did you get your learning from? And not just your general education either, girl, you know what I’m talking about.” He started pulling his robes aside to expose a well muscled chest, but then stopped when he realized it would do her little good.  

“M-My tomes you mean?” Scum drummed what was left of her fingers on the unpolished wood, scowling at the feel of it against her palms. “They are back in Gerhof, master I-I apologize, I can't travel with them. Not very…waterproof, you know?” 

The von Carstein sighed for effect, more for her benefit than his own. “Ah, such as it is. At least it is on the way to Drakenhof. That will be my goal after we pick up your…study material.” His lips peeled away from his teeth with a wet sound he was sure Scum could hear. “But why tiny little Gerhof, my dear?” 

Another nervous, faltering smile. “It’s my home village. I never, uh, had a chance to go back for them after all of…that.” She needed not gesture to her face. It was plain to see she’d been the victim of a witch hunt. Scum might not be a bad necromancer, but it seemed she was bad at hiding the fact.  

The vampire’s ivory grin only grew wider. “Would you protest if I decided that these tomes are too precious to be kept in such a place and simply…be rid of the whole affair? People and all?” 

Much to his surprise, Scum immediately looked excited. “Y-You would do that?” 

“Why of course!” He blustered, feigning compassion. “Anything for the dear servants who came to me during my most…critical time of need.” Manfred started to bow, once again stopping himself and instead took her hands in his in a single, ironically imperious movement. “After all, would it not gladden your poor, suffering heart as well?” 

“I-It would, my master.” She replied tremulously, barely keeping herself contained. “I would love nothing more.” 

Slowly, he drew away and watched as her face flashed with what he could only perceive as need before it faded away. “Come then, we best get going. The sun’s set.” 

The journey to Gerhof would take up to a week at best, and Mannfred intended on making good on it. Skadi and Scum would need time to rest and he would need to seal his black coach to the world during the daylight hours, but arrangements could be made. Yet it also gave him time to plan. And plan he did. As far as he was concerned, everyone thought he’d plunged into the Stir and burned upon its shores.  

In actuality, he had clung to the lightless bottom, waterlogged and wounded, until he washed up in Hel Fenn once more. The stinking mire that had once been his prison in centuries past now kept him buried away, safe from the glare of the sun until night fell once more, several days later.  

The pair he traveled with now had been there, sifting through the trail he’d left behind since his resurrection. It was funny, he thought, how the object of Scum’s obsessions ultimately showed up on her doorstep right when she was lamenting her tardiness in the matter. Schtillman had done the work for her, that’s all. Strange, then, how he’d been attracted to his own grave only to find them. Fortunate, really, Scum had also managed to find his coach then. More so, the damned horse the two of them had rode in on had the sheer strength to yank it from the muck. 

Eyes like lamps peered over at the necromancer, curled up as she was on the fine silk cushions. Strong barrier magic kept the interior sealed to the elements and could, by all means, act as an emergency coffin to hide in if he was ever chased by the sun. Thus the inside, while stale smelling and dusty, had remained perfectly intact. Convenience, indeed. Scum gave a soft, snorting snore.  

Driving the infernal black stone buggy through the night was…Skadi. He was unsure what to make of the necromancer’s younger companion. A Norscan woman, he knew that much. Scum didn’t offer him more than that. A glitter of dark iron around her neck made him squint into the dark, lit only be the single guide lantern sitting beside her. Mannfred hadn’t gotten to speak to or look at Skadi extensively up until now. Taking the chance to do it presently, the vampire noticed the collar appeared to be…welded into place. The skin around it was pink and puckered, as if it burned as it was attached. The Norscan always had it on.  

“Skadi.” He called out, almost demandingly. “Where did you get that collar? You never have it off.” 

For a long moment the Norscan did not answer him, but then steel grey eyes turned to gaze at him over her fur lined shoulder. “It doesn’t come off.” Her flat, monotone voice was ripe with something bitter and cold. He couldn’t quite pin it down, but then… 

His face pinched together, lips peeling back and exposing fangs as long as her fingers. “You are Khornate?” 

A slow, angry smile reached the woman's own face and for a moment the fire danced in her eyes in an unpleasant, violent fashion. Like blood reflected in a dark mirror. “Former Khornate. It took you that long to figure it out?” 

“Damn you, woman!” Mannfred whispered harshly, strangely considerate of his sleeping guest in the bench across from him. “Why are you here?” 

“That’s an awfully broad question.” Skadi snorted, turning away for a tick or two. Harpy could be heard yelling at something in the dark, but the tension quickly passed and the clamor of her hooves continued. “You need to be more specific.” 

Frustrated, he leaned back and stared at her hard, hands automatically reaching for his sword as it laid across his lap. “Why serve with a worshipper of the dear? The Dark Gods are a hateful, jealous ilk and guard their children jealously from the eyes of others. Why Scum?” 

For a long while, Sakdi said nothing but the vampire did not press the issue. He could tell she was actually thinking. “…I answer to one, save for Scum. Don’t ask.” 

Mannfred became immediately disappointed when Skadi decided that apparently the conversation was over. The Norscan’s shoulders were set, attention turned back to the white mount hurtling them through the woods.  

Instead his eyes rested on the other silent companion. Though, really, the skeleton called Jangles could hardly be called that. She…and yes, it was a woman from the shape of her hips, sat stark still in the seat next to Scum, as poise as a fleshless thing could be. In her lap sat a collection of writing materials. The necromancer had something to show him when she woke, as he’d been told. The young woman was already starting to wake, his chat with Skadi rousing her.  

“Good evening, master.” Scum hissed sleepily, uncurling like a cat with a long stretch. “I have much planned!” 

"As I can see.” He grinned lightly, allowing Jangles to hand him the papers that had been sitting in her lap forever.  

Mannfred von Carstein reclined in the cabin of his black coach, languishing as he read through a sheaf of papers clutched in one hand. Sitting across from him, curled up with an eager curve to her lips was the author of this manuscript. Scum, as she so lovingly called herself, had spent several months compiling the scripts orally as her undead servant Jangles transcribed her words into written format with tireless effort. For a reanimated skeleton, it had excellent penmanship.  

Mannfred snorted, amused. “This is…certainly well researched.”  

“Th-thank you, lord.” Scum’s eager little smile widened, brows rising under the velvet blindfold. She was as unseeing as anything could be, the entire top half of her face scorched into a livid, leathery mess she preferred to keep covered. Nonetheless, he had a distinct feeling she was still looking at him directly. 

“But.” He hummed, handing the papers back to Jangles. “I am curious. How did you come across the ideas for any of this? I understand you're Sylvanian, but my ilk are…” He gestured with an open fist, going unseen by the sightless woman entirely. “Secretive. We keep the nature of our humors hidden, even from each other. While I’m sure you’re obviously exaggerating for the sake of popularity and discrepancy, I have a feeling you understand more than you let on.” 

Scum made a sound like a giggle, hiding what expression showed behind a mutilated hand. “Me and Skadi travel a lot, you see. We wiggle into the corners no one thinks to look and Jangles records what we find. Before all of…” The young woman tapped her entire face. “This happened, I was…I guess something of a scholar. I liked to learn. All the more forbidden the knowledge, all the better.” 

Her hand dropped, mouth opening in a wistful smile, tilting back to stare at nothing and everything. “And of course I came across those necromantic tomes. No surprise either considering where I’m from, but it became…a fixation.” 

She spread her remaining fingers wide. “I needed money though, and since I’m studied in finances I knew how to get it. By then I’d already been hunted down and got my good looks ruined, that’s a joke there, so I had to go under the pen name Scum to cover my tracks. It helped that Skadi was already with me. Having a brute like her as a bodyguard tends to be a good deterrent.”  

Mannfred’s eyes were two flashing points of crimson in the relative darkness of the cabin, now directing themselves just behind the necromancer. Skadi’s stocky, wild manned form was just outside the front window. Yoked to the fell vehicle was her horse Harpy, a draft breed of some sort that was in all honesty far too big to be ridden by a normal human. But ride that beast she and Scum did.  

He was actually sort of impressed. Nearly dying at the hands of witch hunters, killing them and then rising their corpses to help hide the bodies wasn’t exactly something he was used to seeing from a teenager. Both Scum and Skadi may no longer be children, but it seemed like they hadn’t been for a long while.

“But sparkling skin?” He smirked, tone dripping with a heady purr. He saw Scum shiver at his voice and took great pleasure in it. 

“Yes! Your character needs to be able look good. That’s the point.” She patted her thighs in joy, getting excited. “And what young, innocent idiot wouldn’t want to be with a man who looks like they're kissed by the sun itself?” Then Scum laughed. It was a strangely pleasing sound, edged with a bitterness he wasn’t used to hearing from her. “Of course I can’t exactly tell mortals the truth. Bursting into smoke and flames. It ruins the image. I’ve not thought well of my fellow humans for a while, but I know what they like to read about.” 

“Campy romance and flashy skin?” He guessed with a peeling back of his lips, the sharp ivory chips he had for teeth gleaming like silver.  

“Indeed!” She exclaimed, clapping her hands once.  

“Then.” He rumbled, his eyes glazing over once more, staring out the window as the night rolled by. Harpy was at a fairly decent clip, but this stretch of road was rarely ever traveled and fewer still would dare cross it after-hours. Especially not when the black coach graced its surface. It lacked its ghostly escort now, but the fell white mare that drew it now wasn’t much better. “I’d like for you to write a sequel. I see potential in this…series.” He chuckled. “More like a tool for misdirection. If I’ve been gone so long that the common mortal would be foolish enough to be so entrapped by this false image, I can use that to my advantage.” 

Scum’s expression was, at first, frightened but then it grew horrendously excited. Finally, a mask of forced calm barely tempered by her educated sense of politeness. “Go on, if you please?” 

While Jangles was not bound to him by any means, his own necromantic powers far surpassed even her own. It only took a snap of his fingers for the command to be given. Clicking her boney fingers, the skeleton perched by Scum’s side palmed her quill and inkwell, a fresh stock of blank parchment shuffling in her lap.  

“I would like for my character to be…less weak.” Pausing for a moment, he had to think a little deeper. If he was going to manipulate the minds of bored noble teenagers through a series of fluffy books, he had to at least play the part of the romantic. “Aside from the sparkly skin, what if this character wins over the apparently love interest with acts of great violence against their enemies? Surely a lover would want to receive the heads of their foes as a sign of…affection?” He dared not utter the word love, gods forbid.  

“The common folk? Sadly no.” Scum sighed for dramatic effect. “Me and Skadi, surely. As if she hasn’t already done that.” 

The woman driving the coach could be heard sniggering over the muffled sound of heavy hooves.  

A bit annoyed at having his suggestion rebuked nonetheless, Mannfred rolled his eyes. “What would you have this character do then?”

“Tell the love interest what they want to hear.” She said simply. “He would say he loves them, and that they’ll justify his following them around at all hours of the day and night as a sign of honest feelings.” 

“Ah.” Now he understood. “Playing a game of subtle emotional manipulation, even if he is…coming off as desperate.” 

“Well, so do a lot of the good little nobles who want to get into someone’s panties.” Scum giggled lewdly. “And while this is your character, I still need to make him relatable enough so more than just girls will want to read it. I want the boys to want to be you.” 

The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea, as cringe inducing as it was. “So note it be then. Get to work." 

He snapped his fingers once more, a grin spreading across his hairless features. “As for the character of the next best novel, I must feed. Have Skadi wait for me at the junction.” 

“Y-Yes, lord!" 

“I heard him, love.” Skadi muttered from the bench, slowing Harpy to a stop once their master left the cabin in motion. His black form darted off into the night, howling curiously. “He sure has a show man’s personality. Slaanesh would have liked him.”

Scum wasn’t sure if she should laugh or cringe. The Dark Gods weren’t a subject of her understanding, but Skadi had plenty of stories to give on that topic. “Bah, don’t worry about him. I’ve already mentioned the tomes, and my plan is set in motion. I knew he’d be interested in them, and I knew he would offer to burn Gerhof for me.”

“Leeches are a predictable lot, aren’t they?” However, Skadi didn’t sound convinced, grunting as Harpy strained in the harness. Her bulk barely fit and the leather bands keeping her in place were starting to burn. Smoke had already started leaking from the mare’s snout and the woman had to sooth the beast to keep her from bursting into flame all together. Her father’s steed was older than she could understand, sharing a bond the woman had worked hard to keep contained. The iron collar at her own throat itched and glowed hot. Adjusting the straps as loosely as she could, the heavy iron saddle the mare was permanently fused into flickered. So too did the double bladed axe fixed to the rear rigging. While Mannfred had seen through to her former alliance, she didn’t want him figuring out anything else.

Scum knew what they were, who Skadi used to be too, but like the Norscan had sworn herself to the necromancer, so too did Scum swear to her. Thus, despite the obvious scent of burning iron, Scum passed no comment and continued to grin. “Oh! Did I pay you for the month?”

“Mm, food’s enough this time I think.” Skadi rumbled kindly, freeing Harpy from the yoke. She ignored the heavy clatter of wood and metal as the mare powered forward, nearly breaking the tug stop. 

“No, it’s not.” Scum insisted with a stubbornness she rarely showed. Jangles was already fishing around in the knapsack, withdrawing gold coins that hadn’t always been there. The brute giggled deeply, accepting the offering and stashing them down the front of heavy leather breast plate. “And you know I could get you better armor.” Scum continued.

“I’m fine, love. Hardened leather and pelts suit me just fine. Besides, isn’t this set already new?”

Scum folded her arms across her ample chest and huffed. “As you say. But at least let me get you a better sword then the one you stole from that corpse Mannfred dragged in yesterday.”

Skadi considered that, withdrawing the blade from its scabbard. It was off balance. “…aye, but only after we put your miserable home town to the torch.”


	2. Gerhof

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the approach to Gerhof, Scum devises a plan to safely discover the fate of her old home and the tomes they contained, but the appearance of another revenant vampire crushes that plan...or does it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written as part of a three chapter commission that will eventually have more written for. Mini OC bios below. Rated as explicit just in case. Smut found in this chapter!
> 
> Scum: A blind necromancer who was the victim of the witch hunt and seeks revenge against her hometown of Gerhof for the incident. Her goals have been almost entirely focused on finding Mannfred's trail after they heard of his dark rise in Hel Fenn. Upon finding him, he is convinced to go with her and Skadi to exact this revenge in exchange for a series of tomes Scum had hidden.
> 
> Skadi: A former Khornate and functioning bodyguard for Scum. She often butts heads with Mannfred and her past is shrouded in mystery. Her war horse Harpy drives the black coach.

Scum sipped on lukewarm water from a leather canteen, both proud and exhausted. Rustling softly in Jangle’s lap was the necromancer's first finished draft of the novel she planned to get to an editor after they left Gerhoff. Her master, Mannfred von Carstein, would need to review the last few chapters, but she was unusually confident that he would approve. It was, after all, the riveting conclusion. His character and the purposefully vague love interest would finally get together after being forced apart since the beginning of the book! 

The necromancer snorted, reduced to a brief giggle fit. Honestly the whole thing was crudely written and made to sound as ridiculous as possible. Trashy romance novels had, after all, kept her and Skadi afloat and anonymous these last few years. The Norscan was a fan of the saying...if it’s not broken, don’t fix it. And Scum’s fiction weaving skills were anything but broken.  

Her incomplete hands trailed down her body, feeling the knitted skin underneath her revealing velvet dress. However, there was a prompt interruption as something banged against the side of the coach. The young woman yelped, the Norscan and her horse both snarled. A weapon clattered and then fell silent. Unseeing, Scum pressed an ear against the padded silk and heard a brief, but familiar argument. Mannfred had forgotten to announce his arrival again, it seemed.  

Laughing nervously, the blind magic worker leaned back, nearly sagging against Jangles who was only just getting her rapier put away. “W-Welcome back, my master!” 

Scum's over enthusiastic greeting apparently broke the tension. The frantic, argumentative voices outside the black coach died down immediately. Words she could not completely make out, apparently venomous departures, filtered in before the door swung open. A moment later, the vampire’s lithe weight settled onto the cushions just opposite of her and Jangles. 

“Yes, yes. Good evening, dear.” He murmured sourly. The undead man stank of blood and smoke. He must have had fun. Scum grinned and dabbed at her nose to be rid of the scent. 

“Skadi said we’re getting close to Gerhof.” The necromancer continued before Mannfred had a chance to air more of his grievances.  

“Aye.” He sighed, sliding across the silk. “I’ve read the signs, we are perhaps a day or so away.” 

“Less than that.” Skadi grunted from the driver’s seat, just over Scum’s left shoulder. “Harpy can keep going at this pace for the rest of the night. We can start razing the damned place before dawn.” 

The slightly older woman’s brows rose in wonder. Unsurprisingly, the brawler was impatient and spoiling for a kill. For once Skadi had suggested something their master might actually agree to. 

“No.” He flat out refused with a baritone growl, yet was too lazy to follow it up with a threat. “Please, girl, you think me so blunt?” 

The necromancer could easily sense the fight before it began. With a yelp, she dived to the floorboards as Skadi suddenly shoved her head through the small porthole, taking personal offense at Mannfred’s accusation. Scum did not care to recall the phrases that were being shouted. The brawler was resorting to some crasser dialect and Mannfred struggled with an insult. Scum did not appreciate being stuck in the middle of the firestorm, so to speak. 

Jangles continued to rattle aggressively, but her reviver put a hand to the skeleton’s knee and raised her own voice. “Hold on, please!” 

With the very physical pressure of both of their gazes turning towards her, Scum curled up and hissed as pleasantly as she could. “Why don’t you both wait in the coach and I’ll drive up at dawn? I’m not a suspicious or nasty looking lass, right?”  

She smiled haltingly then continued. “I-I can get us all in past the guards at the gate. Then you, master, would you like to play a role I have in mind? You can act interested in my buying my old house. Flash around a little gilt and anyone there will be interested in your offer. By right you should own everything in there. Aye?" 

“And me?” Skadi grunted, hovering just above her. 

“When we have what we want.” Scum continued. “You can pop out and kill everything! We'll have the element of surprise. No one would be prepared. We win! Master, you can play a game and Skadi, you get to murder in my name.” 

“Sounds boring.” Skadi started to protest, but her friend knew from her tone it was barely that. The Norscan was only frustrated. Soon, she was sliding back through the porthole with an audible grumble. 

Although it couldn’t be seen, Mannfred’s pale lips skinned back from his razored fangs. “Agree, my dear. Agreed.” 

It was then in the wee hours they arrived, the coach of black stone clattering noisily to a stop. Stationed in the watch tower above, two guards freshly woken to man their posts squinted at the dark but diminutive figure holding the reins. 

The great horse snarled and scrapped her massive hooves against the cobbles, but a gnarled hand gently tugged her still. 

“Good morning. It is morning, yes? I’m afraid my eyes don’t work too well.” 

Taking their wary silence as a cue to continue speaking, the young woman aimed her face in their general direction with an uneasy, faked smile. “There was…an accident. I’m coming from the bogs to take my dear mother to a doctor.” 

“Don’t you have one where you came from, lass?” One of the guards, a woman by her voice, inquired. 

“We had. But there are…things in the bog, you see. Deadly things that shouldn’t be spoken of.” Her voice dropped, a hand drawing close to bunch over the thick woolen fabric. Vaguely, she recalled it might still be grey and misty. Moisture clung to the hard edges of the seat, chilling her bare scalp. Making her hands cold and clammy. Not just because of the anxiety gnawing at her skull, either. 

“Be quick then.” The second guard growled lowly, a man then. The sounds of a mechanism churning to life sounded within the gate house.  

Harpy tossed her head and powered through without prompt, with Scum forcing her to walk instead of trot. They weren’t here to kill…not yet at least. Teeth chattering, the necromancer grumbled and pulled the hood tighter about her head.  

Somehow, some way, the horse was able to guide herself. All the better because…what were functional eyes, again?  

The necromancer could sense several tired, suspicious gazes watching her from within windowed houses overlooking the street. It was an oppressive, dreadful sort of weight that pulled her pale lips into a frown. But they were just as scared. It prickled from their minds like sweat leaking from their skin. They wouldn’t dare to go further than their sills and thresholds.  

Scum would have called them cowards, but fear was infectious. She was once a nervous little child, but then they burned her. Scum’s mother had followed, setting herself on fire in the act of freeing her screaming daughter. Not much more than pearled bone now. At least the poor woman’s skeleton had been recoverable. Scum wouldn’t know what she’d do without Jangles, as she called her now. Never managed to know what her mother’s real name was, sadly.  

In time, the stares turned away. Returning to barely lit rooms as morning obligations pulled them towards duty. The coach’s occupants wouldn’t be bothered. Languidly clattering to a stop, Harpy hung her head in boredom and complained about the situation with a snort of hot air. The mare’s concerns were not addressed. Instead a small knock was administered to the front of the cabin.  “Master? We’re here and alone at last. I don’t think anyone’s around?” 

There was a long, significant pause as Mannfred sniffed the cold morning air, testing it. “Nay, this district’s damned near empty.” 

Brows drawing together, the necromancer could hear a brief, but unheated argument. Skadi sounded more bored than angry, but she obeyed her orders to stay in the cabin. Their master soon emerged.  Before she could process his touch, a pair of muscle thick arms plucked her from the seat. Without protest, Scum found herself with her back pressed against a rough hewn wall. His hands paused just above her silk girdle. Mannfred von Carstein was achingly close to the point where Scum could feel the stolen blood he had pumping through his veins. He was cold, solid and smelled of earth and old blood. Like an old altar stone. “Skadi doesn’t have to know.” He whispered suddenly, breaking her thoughts. “We can take a little walk, you and I.”  

Barely able to reply, the young woman sucked in a rush of cold air and smiled. “A-am I worthy?” In the back of her mind, she knew this was the vampire’s way of getting something from her, but by the bones of Slyvania, he was doing everything right.  

In a bold, unusual moment the necromancer allowed her hands to run across the hard surface of his chest. He was as smooth and icy as stone, like a granite statue, and somehow that only made her feel so much warmer.  He took his time in answering. “You need this.” He breathed into her ear once more. “Why not reward you for furthering my goals, yes?” 

“Y-Yes. Of course.” That shaking, nervously excited hand trailed up to touch his neck, just above the clavicle. “Pl-please, just be gentle. I’m…I’m new.” 

The vampire said nothing and their walk alone was tense and charged. If Scum were any braver she imagined her hands would never leave him. Damn him in all the best ways, the once-man knew how to get her wound up. Did that make her easy somehow? The thought spun around in her head, making her fidget. It was a nonsense thought to be sure. The Gerhof native had never let a touch her like this. Only Skadi ever had that privilege. Yet…yet it only took Mannfred placing a hand on her belly and asking for a walk in a suggestive manner to reduce her to this state.  

It mattered little now. Her master stopped and a hand gripped her wrist. His other pulled back the hood. Suddenly, his lips were brushing against the woman’s neck. Whimpering, Scum’s thoughts spiraled towards the point of contact, expecting and welcoming a bite. Sadly, she only ever felt those ivory daggers graze her pulse, sampling her without taking the main course. The sensation was terribly new and it teased the necromancer more than she would have liked, afraid she might be reduced to shivers before Mannfred could actually do anything.  

Thankfully he withdrew, leaving behind prickled skin and a fluttering heart. Scum was already panting a little and her master made what could only be assumed was an amused chuckle.  

“T-Tease.” Oh, the woman pretended to be angry, she really did but there was something strangely affectionate about the way he was handling her. Such…gentleness? Could that word even be applied to him?  

“Ah, a lovely morning, my dear. I should find shelter, aye?”  

The absolute monster. Brows creasing in disappointment, Scum’s heated moment had indeed hidden the heat of a rising sun. She could feel it now that she was paying attention.  

Damn him in all the worst ways. “A-Aye.” 

Physically dragging herself forward to follow the sound of his bare footsteps, the woman could not have been more…put out, as Skadi would have described it. Wrinkles were appearing on her face she was frowning so hard. 

Below her equally bare feet the stones were becoming slick and warm, hurrying Mannfred’s pace. More than likely he would hole himself up somewhere dark and cool whilst she’d be charged with locating her old home. If she could. The necromancer's mind was a little fuzzy on the details and asking too many questions of the wrong people could be dangerous. If she hadn’t just spent those few precious seconds hovering in a state of warm bliss, maybe her mind could work out a better solution.  

Bones of Nagash, maybe there was a dead cat in an alleyway somewhere she could pet. 

But she was wrong. So horribly, joyously wrong. The vampire did not shelter himself away with his usual disdain for the light.  

Once they tucked themselves away into a tight, shadowy alcove, he was a cat upon a mouse. The bite she had anticipated so instead turned into a long, snaking tongue. Longer than it had any right to be. The sensation was both exciting and disturbing, a combination that put her right back where she’d been before and more. Heat quickly pooled below her girdle, begging for attention. Begging for release.  

Whatever delicate self control Scum had faded away, replaced by soft mewls and desperate hands. “Please, please, please…master, please.” 

He did not keep her waiting for much longer. Mannfred simply had to remove the sash keeping his robes together and he was there. Between her legs. Worming his way all the way within her until it felt like something would unravel. Noises were sloppily muffled into his garments and her own were unceremoniously striped from her.  

After a very short while, words failed for both of them. Rushed, snarled breaths battered against her shoulders, and later, her exposed breasts. Fangs lingered dangerously close to thin, sensitive skin. Scum cared not. She wanted it badly and he gave and gave and took what the necromancer would never have freely given anyone else. 

Lifted clean off the ground, it seemed like it ended far too soon while also lasting a lifetime and beyond. Cognitive thought no longer existed, only the vampire within and without, pinning her and holding her. Claws as sharp as spear tips racked furrows in the wall even as they found competition in one another.  

Coming down was instant and almost disorienting. Unseeing eyes eased open, cringing as she felt him withdraw. Struggling to catch her breath, an honest, unforced smile graced the woman's lips.  

“Master, why must you make me walk funny. People will talk.” She exhaled.  

“Oh, whatever shall you do?” Mannfred played along, curled fingers caressing the edge of the woman’s jaw and then surprising her with a kiss. It was quick, ghost-like, but it was just enough. Exactly enough.  

“I-I think I’ll make do.” Making a show of clearing her throat, the necromancer stood and attempted to be dignified. Sashes and dress fabrics were straighten, brushed clean and smoothed. Somewhere to her left Mannfred covered a partial nakedness she never got to see.  

“And so shall I. Go, my dear. We both have our games to play.” 

Oh, what a dangerous game it was. Without sight, Scum played the role of the blind beggar, stumbling along cobbled streets through feel alone. Roads she had previously dedicated to memory applied only to sight. Asking directions from people who, by all means, avoided strangers would be difficult and risky all the same. 

Scum would not be able to know a suspicious knife was there until it was jabbing her in the ribs. Jangles wasn’t there to protect her either. Revealing that she was a Gerhof native since displaced was also painting a target upon her back. Hunters would be after her and she knew they were in this village. Any town along the bogs knew to keep hunters around. It was only safe. 

Scarred toes reached the end of the path, hooking the edge where stone met moist soil. A morbid sense of dread and poisoned nostalgia crept up her spine. She was home. She knew that feeling anywhere. Yet strange energies had been released here. Forcefully. That didn’t make much sense. She never forced the winds of the dead at all. That sort of impression wouldn’t be left here. Why did it feel empty, too? Why was there a faint, nagging scent of ash and burned wood wafting in the humid air? 

“I would not venture much further, dear.” 

Scum started, limbs beginning to shake. Toes curled, trying to keep her balance. “E-Excuse me?” She turned to the source of the voice without thought. 

“I…oh, poor child.” The voice spoke once again, croaking softly. An old crone? 

The necromancer could hear her shoddy footsteps approaching slowly. “I didn’t realize you couldn’t see, but please, darling. The warning is all the same. Don’t go in there.” 

“W-What happened?” Scum dared to ask. 

A slow but enthusiastic clack of beaded braids. A head shake from her aged guest. “It should not be spoken of, but you are already without so much information about the world. I will tell it, but you must promise to never utter it again. You understand?” 

Fumbling with her incomplete fingers, the blind one nodded. 

“Good, good…” The old one wondered closer and Scum got the impression of a hight long since lost to bone degeneration. A strong reek of musk told her this woman was more than likely homeless, too. A wise old reject lingering on the streets to keep young, innocent ladies just like Scum out of trouble. The necromancer knelt, tilting her head to the side to allow the woman to whisper into her ear.  “This place is cursed.” She began. “Stripped and burned by witch hunters because necromancy had taken place here. The little harlot responsible was put to the stake. Yet there are rumors she managed to escape somehow. Her mother, or some other relative climbed onto the pyre and broke her bonds. But surely she can’t have gotten far before someone caught up to her.” A huff of foul air was released in a snort. “Lass killed a number of her pursuers but she was already burned half to death. Surely! A slow, agonizing death in the swamp is what she likely got and deserved. Yes?” 

“Y…Yes.” Scum uttered, unable to control the violent shaking that now racked her body. “F-Forgive me! Just…that tale was so…shocking. I had no idea…” 

“Shhh…” The hag rumbled softly, patting Scum’s shoulder. “It is a terrible one, without doubt. It changed the population. So many other suspected witches were burned that day too. But worry not of it, yes? A small, abused little girl like you won’t be any threat, just as I’m about as dangerous as a lame horse nowadays.” 

“Ah…of course, old mother.” Forcing a smile, the younger started off in the opposite direction, suddenly desperate to return to the coach. “I should find the road to the next town I think. S-Such cursed places are not for strangers, aye?” 

“Aye, run lass. This place has nothing for sweet things like you.” The lady was glad to let her go, drawing back.  

Scum did not thank her, or say goodbye. The woman’s voice was already fading away as the burned necromancer ran away from the house of her childhood.

“Burned and stripped…” Mannfred Von Carstein began, the displeasure in his voice building with every word. 

Even with Jangles to her left and Skadi to her right, Scum’s sense of urgency and anxiety did not fade. She had failed. The word was acid, boiling in her breast until she was sure mucus would start to bubble from behind her teeth. Forcing herself to stay calm was not working. Holding hands with Skadi and Jangles both was the only thing keeping a full break down at bay.

Beside her, the Norscan twitched. Although the necromancer couldn’t see, the way the her elbow shifted easily told everyone that Skadi was reaching for the stolen steel sheathed at her hip. Even the cabin seemed to rock with the tension. Harpy began to chaff at the bit, kicking and growling unnaturally. 

“Yes, master.” Scum allowed herself to speak again, head bowed. She took Mannfred’s continued silence as an indication to keep talking. “I…I don’t think they might have missed anything, it was all in the house.” The necromancer made a strange, thoughtful sound. “I can always come up with a new plan if you wish. A lot of my…my personal notes that I keep on me contain key texts from the books before I was blinded.”

Again, continued silence. Nervous, Scum saw no reason to keep speaking then. Feeling ignored, the woman sank further into the silken cushions and leaned against Skadi. The other had been suspiciously still, but the tension in her shoulders melted slightly. The hand abandoned her sword hilt, reaching for Scum instead. Jangles clattered softly, obeying an unspoken order from her master to retrieve said notes. 

“Don’t worry about it.” Skadi whispered. “Not much you could have done without throwing yourself out there. Would have involved more talking than I would have stood to even think about. I leave that all to you for a reason.”

Without prompt, Scum giggled so quietly only Skadi heard it. 

Yet, just as pearled phalanges reached into the gnarled knapsack, the vampire rumbled.

“Wait.” He commanded. “Stripped you said?”

Pausing for several intense heart beats, Scum let those worse sink in. “…yes!”

Incomplete hands clapped together. “Yes! Yes! They must have removed everything inside the place first. Why else would they have stripped it?” 

“Exactly. Burning doesn’t excise the magic from anything. You’re just destroying the physical container.” He continued. “It is best to lock up the containers to avoid setting their contents free.”

Scum tried to keep the relieved grin from her face, but failed. “So the game is still being played?”

“It is still being played, my dear.” She heard him clicking his claws together thoughtfully. “It is nearly nightfall and my part approaches. I will not contain you to the coach, but do not be far. Clear?”

The bald head bowed once more. “Aye, master. I’ll take Skadi with me.”

Gerhof’s sunsets were weak and hazed by palls of marsh gasses, coloring the light a sickly green. By then most if not all of the common folk would be indoors, avoiding the stink and the heat and the promise of darker things howling in the swamps beyond. Gleams of armor could be spotted along the guard wall where patrols were being carried out. Looking out, but not in. Mannfred had little to worry from them. Even without his battle plate, Gerhof steel would not do much more than cause him a bit of pain. Pain that he might very well welcome. 

Years of being below the cold, filthy soil…why the feeling of warm, stolen blood rolling down his icy skin might as well be a gift. Those thoughts he would save for later, lovingly chased as they were by the memory of the necromancer girl. How it had felt to be inside of her… Clawed feet strolled along the cooling flag stones, spotting the ragged shape of an old home just at the end of the curve. Indeed it was burned down and warded just as Scum had said. Pieces of silver and iron dangled from cords. Lamps burned fresh sage. A daily ritual designed to protect against clawing, fiendish things. More effective was the small, now occupied servant’s shack stationed off to the side. Curious. He didn’t think the place would be guarded at all. Not many would dare stay near it long enough if they knew the history.

Rock hard knuckled banged on the door and a portly, annoyed looking man trundled out. He was well dressed for his assumed position, a stack of books and records threatening to spill from the crook of his arm. “Yes?”

“Are you guarding this place?”

“Bah, no. It doesn’t need guarding. I’m the landlord that owns these sad little homes. What do you want?”

Mannfred tried very hard not to smile and accidentally flash his fangs. “I am interested in buying a sad little home.”

Now there was a different light in the landlord’s eyes. “I was actually just getting ready to leave, but…”

“I will compensate your time.” Mannfred purred immediately, fingering a pouch that ringed harmoniously when shook. Gold. 

“Come in. Please!” With a strength that clearly hinted that his bulk wasn’t just from being overfed, the man shoved open the heavy oaken door and started towards his desk. “Forgive the mess, I…”

“Nevermind that.” Mannfred waved him off. “Just give me a starting price for the gutted home.”

The man stopped. “No. I can’t do that one. Perhaps the one at the other end of the street? It has a balcony and…”

“I did not ask for that one.” Snapped the taller one, slowly, trying again not to flash his fangs for an entirely different reason. “I want to rebuild that gutted one to suit my needs as an…artist, yes. You see, I have a very specific muse. A brooding one, that requires rich, old houses haunted with even older memories. You understand culture, don’t you?”

For a moment the man worked his jaw. “I do, but there are laws.”

“And I have more gold than any of these poor, paranoid tenants will ever see.” Mannfred drummed his fingers across the oaken desk. “I care not for the laws of uncultured swine.”

“C-Can I see the gold at least?” The man asked for a length of time. Sweat had started to bead across his forehead.

Annoyed but compliant, Mannfred unlaced the pouch and counted out the gold. Now the man’s sweat was starting to roll into his eyes, prompting him to dab at his face with his sash. “Well?” The vampire insisted, feeling more than a little smug. “I can even give you a bit of a bonus. I hear this house also had a number of items removed. If you can tell me where those items might be located, that is.” As Mannfred watched the other, he could tell an internal war was going on behind those heavy eyes. Greed was quickly winning over logic. Typical human. Flash a little gilt and the darker corners of their personalities come to light.

“They’re locked up.” The landlord finally replied. 

“Explain.” Prompted the vampire.

“In the town’s vault. I’m sure you’ve heard the stories, right? Just…just don’t say that I told you.”

“Of course I have and of course I won’t. I just hope that all of the furnishings and vestments are well worth the price.”

“N-No, sir. You can’t have anything that was in the house. It’s not part of the contract…”

“Mm…no deal then.”

Without bothering with a proper farewell, Mannfred turned and seemed to become the wind. He was gone before the man had a chance to say a thing. The spell seemed to fade and the landlord realized his mistake. Fearing more than he could understand, his hands blindly fumbled at the table, searching for the gilt. It was not there. He swore his eyes were upon the discs of precious gold, but then they weren’t. Gone.

Fear gripped his heart and his full strength took over. A former laborer, he had lied and cheated his way into a rather expensive gambling ring and earned himself enough currency for this current job. His body might have gotten a little soft since his days hauling clay brick, but his fists were still just as hard and fast. If he had to tackle the strange man into the ground and pummel his bald face in, he would. Except…why was his suddenly on the ground? Why was he staring at his own shoes?

Why…

Mannfred Von Carstein watched as the now headless body took a moment to collapse. Sliced through the neck so cleanly, the head continued to roll its eyes in confusion before death clouded them. Yet the vampire wasted no more time. He was hungry and the blood would only be fresh for a short while. A messy feeding surely, but one that would last him until the next one. He had more important things to address than parlaying with a greedy landlord. One who could be persuaded to break the law when enough gilt crossed his table. Flying on through Gerhof’s warm, choking air Mannfred skipped across tiled roofs and cleared fences without a thought. A black wind riding an even blacker night. A town’s vault should be in the center and…

A crack of land born thunder than a familiar and welcome pain. A laugh almost escaped his throat, but then the pleasant sting turned into a burning agony. Blessed silver bullets. This wasn’t some peasant taking pot shots at the man shaped horror ghosting over their house. He cannot see them yet, his form struggling to turn solid as it dropped from the sky. As if wind itself could have weight. 

Just as the ground reached him and the von Carstein invited the painful impact with a hiss and a snarl, a new scent fowled the air. A certain animal stink, mixed with the miasma of tainted magics and the amethyst touch of the dead winds. It did not occur to him what that meant right away, mostly because of the impossibility of it. He had seen the thing’s head come off its shoulders, still snapping and drooling. Now the head was impossibly back on its body, snapping and drooling on the bodies of his would be attackers.

Annoyed and anxious, Mannfred yanked the hissing bullet from his flank with a yelp and tossed it aside. 

“Vlad!” He screamed. 

“Mannthred.” Came the reply and all attempts at approaching stopped. This seemed to amuse the varghulf, mouth still full of bloody offal. “Where ish Ishabella?” 

Gods, damn it! Vlad couldn’t even speak before, let alone mock him!

“I don’t care where she is! How did you live? You should have been ash back at the Stern!” 

With his stumpy wings folded across a chest that was starting to take a more human shape, Vlad’s monstrous form was slow to regain its original state. “Tho thimple.” Vlad rumbled through snuggled teeth, speech lisped. “Do you really think I die that eathily?”

With the argument fixing to come to blows, two shapes that Mannfred was certain were two frightened natives stopped at the edge of the square, stumbling after a dead sprint. They were not. In fact, they were the last people he wanted to see right now. Skadi had already unlimbered her sword and while she had sense lost Khorne’s blessings, her strength and brutality were still very much with her. Nor was Bearjaw a small axe by any means. Skadi was somehow able to not just lift it, but swing it like it was something far, far lighter. 

Vlad, still healing and reverting, did not dodge quickly enough and let out a shout that was all together too human. Mannfred, unarmed and unprepared for his current foe, spat and hissed as he danced out of the way. The varghulf’s bellowing soon mixed with the bellowing of the younger woman, both equally deep and terrifying. 

It was a losing fight. Even weakened from an apparent rebirth, the beast had fed and stayed hidden just as Mannfred had. And more annoyingly he had his strength and size. Long, webbed limbs lashed out and kept Skadi at bay, batting her aside. Just as it had batted her aside, the same limb snatched her up, yanking close. Jaws opened…

“St-stop!”

Vlad and Mannfred both paused, turning as one towards the blind necromancer. Draping fabrics and charms fluttered violently as she struggled to close with them, guided only by sound and the strong taste of their magic. Jangles clattered along at her heels, the shining length of steel that made up her rapier visible to all. “Please…” Scum huffed and panted, stopping short. 

She attempted to say more, perhaps an apology for her failure before. Perhaps an offer to be the one taken instead of Skadi. Instead, a cold shape loomed above her. Scum knew who this was. It was not out of familiarity. She had never met the varghulf or the man it was slowly returning to. Simply, it was a bloom of recognition. Texts and journals attested to vampires spoke of Vlad von Carstein with such detail she knew who he was even without sight. 

“Necromancer.” Vlad rumbled, his voice directly above her. Skadi hit the floor a moment later, forgotten. “Yes, I think I will stop. I’ve need of you.”

Before the necromancer could do anything, she felt a gust of cool wind batter at her clothing and the sickening feeling of being rapidly taken from her feet. Scum dared not scream, however, clinging to flesh as cold as Mannfred’s had been.


	3. Ashes of the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vlad proves to be an unexpected but risky ally, forcing Scum to consider her current relationships. Including the one with Skadi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written as part of a three chapter commission that will eventually have more written for. Mini OC bios below. Rated as explicit just in case. Violence in this chapter!
> 
> Scum: A blind necromancer who was the victim of the witch hunt and seeks revenge against her hometown of Gerhof for the incident. Her goals have been almost entirely focused on finding Mannfred's trail after they heard of his dark rise in Hel Fenn. Upon finding him, he is convinced to go with her and Skadi to exact this revenge in exchange for a series of tomes Scum had hidden.
> 
> Skadi: A former Khornate and functioning bodyguard for Scum. She often butts heads with Mannfred and her past is shrouded in mystery. Her war horse Harpy drives the black coach.

Awakening to the itch of wet foliage against her skin, Scum’s first instinct was to feel fear. Not the sort a human was prone to, but pure animal terror upon realizing she had no idea where she was. The woman’s blindness did not help. Incomplete hands darted to her chest, legs folding tight against her abdomen, refusing to feel a thing out of fear for what she might encounter. It took an exhausting, physical effort to calm down. To feel the dead winds. To hear, to smell, to touch. Immediately, she realized she was not alone and then memory flooded back, an unpleasant wash of ice against her already jittery nerves. “...Vlad...?” 

“I am here, child.” His voice called out from somewhere in front of her, his footsteps squishing in the soaked soil. No, not feet...claws. Four limbs walked towards her. Scum shivered and ducked her head. “Ah, no no. None of that. I might not be able to fully shift at the moment, but I’m not here to eat you, trust me. I had the mind to snack before coming here.” 

And indeed his voice had gone from something barely human to a cultured accent that Mannfred would have never bothered to use with plain folk. What must have been a still massive form stopped, sitting down on its haunches. Interestingly, his lisp was almost gone too, but it had gained a nasally quality instead. As if suffering from sinus troubles or some sort of injury. Slowly, the necromancer sat up, scrubbing grime from her garments. “Then...uh, my lord...why am I here?” 

Arms that were half membranous wings and sinew folded daintily in front of him. The still half formed monster then laid down, dog like. “I wish to make a deal, if you would indulge me. If you’ve thrown your lot in with Mannfred I’m sure you’ve learned enough to know how I perished the first time around. And what I might need to get back to a far more pleasing and conventional shape. And what I might need to do to find my dear wife.” 

Scum twisted her fingers into the velvet belts at her waist. “I...can’t say. I only know so much.”  

His snout, nearly human, tilted to the side. Scum was hiding herself. He couldn’t say he blamed her, but this didn’t do for his own plans. Yet, unlike his son, Vlad had patients and consideration. A thoughtful noise clicked from his mouth, long tongue snaking from thin lips. “Then please, child. Allow me to leave you with a warning. My son will use you for his own ends. No matter what he does, or what he says, it is not out of love. Never love. He never understood the concept. It is best if you complete your goals here and get out of his grasp before he has you utterly. I will not pursuit you whe...if you decide to leave.” 

Scum breathed hard, trying to contain what she felt was going to be a horrible panic attack, but it was burning in her gut like anger. “I know better. You don’t need to tell me what I already know.” She spat and then tried to snatch the words back into her mouth, realizing she had snapped at him.  

Vlad had yet to move, that same curious tone sliding from between his crowded fangs. For his own benefit, the giant bat described a bow. “Ah, forgive me. I did not mean to assume...” He righted himself and suddenly Scum could feel the soft wash of his coppery breath near her face. She began to sputter but he continued before she could. “But don’t make assumptions of me either, child. I am old and I know my son perhaps better than he knows himself. I know what he can do to people and what he will do to you. If you don’t factor into his plans, he will rid himself of you one way or another. It will be a constant fight to try and make yourself useful before he decides otherwise. If you're going to play this game, you need to understand what you’re getting into.” 

He had paused to let her speak, but Scum found herself at a loss for words, but at no shortage of tears. She could feel the wetness stinging her abused eyes through the blindfold, like salt in a wound. “What do you know?” She started to say, anger and stress boiling forth, spilling from her tear ducts, betraying her. Much to her surprise, she felt a furry finger gently dab at her sockets. It was entirely too fatherly for something like him and it made it all the worse, yet so much better.   
“Come now, child. I’m too old for lies. I am both a father and a husband, I’ve learned to see what others refuse to. Love has done terrible and wonderful things to this old, poor heart. It has also taught me something my wayward son never could. Understanding.”  

“You are reading me like a bloody book, Vlad!” Scum sobbed openly, gripping at his long, deformed hand in desperation. “I don’t like it! Please just...stop! Let me delude myself at least a little!” 

“I cannot. Will not.” He said, with an almost smug air. She wanted to scream more, but her rage was still boiling down her face. The woman’s tired, withered eyes began to ache. Vlad worked the blindfold from her face and Scum snatched at it reflexively, babbling, but she found herself being pressed against a hairy, thick ribbed chest. The necromancer grabbed herself a handful of pelt and sobbed hard.  

“There there, shhh.” He rumbled, patting her on the back with his too large hands, webbed with tattered membranes. He was as a cold as Mannfred had been and it helped the burning sensation building behind her eyes. She held onto him until time crawled by and emotions became awkward and too muggy to process.  

Unsure how to thank him, Scum muttered an apology instead. The only one she had ever cried in front of had been Skadi and then only rarely. She’d done good, until now. She had everything figured out, until now. And then, when her dream was finally starting to be realized. When power was finally possible, Scum found herself wanting. Will power seemed to fail when it was most needed, right when the unforgiving truth was dangled in front of her face. A stronger part of herself begged to go with Vlad. To heed his warnings and the red flags that she knew were flying, but Mannfred...Mannfred was part of this dream. One she had only a vague hope of seeing reality. Yet now she knew, and indeed deep down she always knew, that dream came to her dipped in sweet, sweet poison. A part of her, shamefully, would have even enjoyed the pain the vampire inevitably brought. Years of repressed needs would have turned it into a gods damned pleasure in fact. Had the von Carstein son smelled that in her soul somehow? Is that why he took her? Did she bait her own bloody trap?  

“Are you coherent? If not, we can walk. If so...we should still walk. I can hear someone, or perhaps something, approaching so it might be best if we made ourselves scarce.” He tilted his hunched body towards her, the offer standing.  

It was...not much different from Harpy, right? “Do I sit sidesaddle or...astride?” 

Vlad let out a bubbling laugh. “Oh, child, Isabella would be so fond of you. Sidesaddle, child.”  

Hiding a titter, Scum clambered onto his bony shoulders, hunching over to arrange her legs and grip a handful of fur and skin. By all means, however, Harpy was a smoother ride. He walked like a stilt legged dog, or a long backed cat. Too many joints flexing on the ends of bones that were too long. But running was necessary. Familiar ironshod hoof beats chased after them, but Vlad wove between branches and glided over bogs that would have hampered even Harpy. The occasional wing beat launched him even further ahead, and twice she nearly lost her grip.  

At last, they slowed. This part of the swamp was cloying, misty and strangely cold. It took her a moment to smell around her to realize they had gone underground somewhere. Darkness and dead things pulsed like a heartbeat down here, but Vlad had begun to speak again.  

“Better. Much better. We’re a small ways from Gerhof, though.” He filled in the blanks. “In an old hideout I think. Probably dug out to hide from invasions from the dead. Plenty good that did the former occupants.” He idly swatted at a ghoul Scum hadn’t realized was watching them. “Filthy and unwholesome but the light doesn’t touch this place.” 

“You’ve been hiding down here? All this time?” 

“Indeed. How lucky that it laid close to Gerhof. Otherwise I would have never found you, let alone picked up Mannfred’s rotten scent.” 

Scum huffed. “He smells rather nice! I..not that I would know! That’s just how I write him in my book! Uh...oh.” 

“Oh, child you are so deeply in love.” He teased. “What would your father think?” 

“I...I’ve never met the man.” Scum replied tightly through a forced smile. “Mother spoke of him, but it was always twisted around to suit her stories. Purposefully dodging questions. I...when my wounds happened, I got a taste of what she was hiding. I didn’t get the full history of him, but I got enough and I was not impressed.”    
“Ah.” He stopped himself before he could elaborate upon the pain a child suffered when not born out of love. He didn’t need to jab her with what she was trying to hide from. Not again. Instead, he tapped his claws together. “But I sense some trust in you finally. Perhaps you might grace me with your name, child?” 

“Scum.” 

“Your real name, child.” 

“...Q-Quincy...” 

“Does he know that?” 

“I...I never told him. Only Skadi knows but the gods have whispered in her ears before. She knows not to use it. It’s not safe.” 

Vlad nodded approvingly. “You are wise for it then. Very well, Scum it is. But I’m sure Isabella will insist on a new name when I have her in my arms again.”   
Scum blinked, blind orbs rimmed red and inflamed, staring blankly. “What do you mean?” 

“Please, I plan on presenting you to her. As I said, she would be very fond of you and the woman has always wanted daughters.”   
“I...but Mannfred!” 

“Hush, I will reel my irate, disobedient child in one way or another. I would not dare separate the two of you without your consent, no matter how much he hurts you. Isabella won’t let him, of course.” He bragged, smiling with his lipless face in all of its entirety. 

“And how do I factor into this?” 

“The portents of this will be complex. I need aide, preferably in the plural. I’ve not seen your work, but you’ve done your research if you know so much about me and Mannfred already. And if your talents in the winds of the dead are proven, all the better. Overall I need people that I can trust, and be trusted by in turn. So far you’re the only mortal I’ve met who has the mind for that.” He wagged a finger. “However. I will be asking you to hide yourself from my son. He can not know what I have planned. If he picks up the scent, however...hm, if his fury is still as torrential as it was before his death, then it is best if you run and cover your tracks. That is a lot to ask of you, I realize. If you disagree, which I suspect you will, I will take you back to Gerhof, I will find your tomes, and wash my claws of this loathsome place.”  

“I agree.” Scum replied, perhaps a little too quickly, her mind flashing the answer before her hindbrain could even process it. The immediate thought caused a spike of anxiety that was, interestingly, chased with confidence. A sort of deathly reassurance of her fate. Resignation perhaps? She did not know.   
Even Vlad von Carstein paused, surprised but pleased. “Very well. Since the deal is set, I will keep my word and reward you with something that Mannfred would never think to give you.” He leaned in close, his breath audible now. “Immortal life. Among me and my wife. You will be free from your mortal coil and beyond any doubts you have now.”  

Stunned, Scum remained silent. Yet a gleam of hope shone in those milky orbs, meek and afraid . Vlad smoothed a claw over her rugged scalp, tying the blindfold back into place with a father's care. “I am a man of my word.” He reiterated softly.  

“I believe you.” Scum whispered almost too quietly for even her to hear.  

Vale’s voice burbled in a low laugh. “Now, lets get you back to Gerhof before your friend tears the swamp apart searching for you.” 

Harpy’s ironshod hooves danced on the bank of the swamp, desperately resisting the urge to charge. Not from her will power, no, for if the great mare had her head she would have plowed through water, murk and death alike to get across. But Skadi would not let her, knowing neither she nor the beast would have made any progress for it. Not that the Norscan’s ire was any less. A sting at her throat lingered where the iron collar had begun to burn again, runes she could never deface smoldering against her bare flesh.  

A single, thunderous scream left her mouth before it all melted away like embers gone to ash. Where the bat had taken Scum, she could not follow and Mannfred had only tagged along on her insistence. He was only just now catching up after the horse’s roiling dash through the bog. Pausing several feet from the woman, the vampire realized she wasn’t as far removed from Khorne as she claimed to be. “Most excellent, you’ve lost track of your employer already.”  

“I know exactly where she is, leech.” Skadi’s voice hissed. “And unless one of us grows bloody wings, we better find a way around the filth or I’m pushing you in.” 

“I don’t swim.” He replied, cool and hateful. “And your employer’s capture is a distraction at best. I still have a task to complete.” 

“You don’t get to touch them without Scum’s permission.” 

“I don’t?” He gasped, holding a hand to his dead heart. “Why, last we talked she all but promised them to me. The whole damned reason we’re even in this peasant town is to find them. Yet one little set back suddenly changes the plan? One that your dear necromancer had planned so perfectly?” The thing with a man’s shape flourished. “Well, indeed my mistake for assuming only what I was clearly told.”  

“Why any god would allow an honorless parasite like you to exist is the reason I stripped myself of them in the first place” The woman had begun to dismount, gripping an axe as big and thick as any round shield. Mannfred forced himself to stop. That weapon had never left the mare’s saddle before. The only weapon Skadi had ever used during the months he knew her had been a stolen sword of subpar steel. If she was reaching for something of that size he could expect a fight.  

He bowed. “Then you understand why I work alone.” He appealed, eyeing the axe. It started to glow with a hot power that made his eyes sore. “It is not out of...spite or callousness. But, merely, I am a man of business. Of goals.” 

“You are a man of lies and arrogance!” She roared, leaving the saddle and Mannfred had to force his ground.  

“S-Skadi!” 

Just like that, the burning axe fell from her grip.  

Scum stumbled through the bog, walking toes first through the dampness but the brute was already rushing forward. Mannfred shivered balefully, glaring at the now abandoned weapon. “Well, how fortunate!” His courtly accent had vanished. “Where is my father? Where is Vlad!?” 

Scum gently struggled out of Skadi’s furious grip, putting a hand over the other woman’s face in the hopes of keeping her explosive retort contained. “I...I lost him, master. I struggled out of his grip while he was gliding across the bog and landed...somewhere. He might have started searching for me, but I hid...somewhere. Underground I think. He couldn’t find me but I found my way back to Gerhof! He...he didn’t take me far and the town was already agitated over his appearance. So I...I took advantage of that and came back to find you.” 

“And what, exactly, did he want with you?” Mannfred asked in a tone that was too sweet to be genuine curiosity. 

“I don’t know, master. He spoke to me, but I was more concerned with leaving and getting back to the both of you.”  

“Mmm...” He approached, nares flaring. “Useless. You discovered nothing.” 

“I did.” She replied, bowing her head. “Please, master. I-I found where the vaults are. I can get in while you and S-Skadi bring ruin.” 

“You and Skadi will retrieve the tomes.” He snarled, looming closer until Skadi halted him with a snarl, one hand floating close to the axe again, the other refusing to leave Scum’s person. “I will have fun. You owe me that at least, considering all the trouble you’ve been thus far.” 

Sucking in a shuddering breath, Scum whispered and hid her face against the Norscan’s shoulder guard. “A-Aye, my master...” 

Von Carstein’s joyous carnage just outside the hard stone edifice had drawn a majority of the staff and put them down into the cloying scripture spaces and halls in an attempt to hide. Many of the guards, well armed men and women in scale mail wielding maces and morning stars had been drawn outside, likely already separated from their limbs and looking far paler than they had in life. Scum was stung. She was no fighter, but the dead pulsed with a life she was itching to grasp. To get lost in the exhaustion of her art. But her master had denied her that, at the cost of agreeing to Vlad’s promise. A long term goal of sacrifice and dangerous games.  

The woman sighed as another scream was silenced and the stink of copper and organs reached her nose once more. Skadi was carving through bodies in a way that sadly made most of them useless. She wanted to request otherwise, but Skadi deserved a little reprieve. Holding back was difficult and nearly sickening for the Norscan, and indeed their master’s disregard had nearly put Skadi over the edge. Bearjaw had been in the woman’s hands and if Scum had not meandered in when she did, the toothed blade would have swung. There was not coming back when that dread thing tasted blood.  

That was not what Skadi used now, but the stolen sword was plenty and the brute laughed with the efforts. That’s what mattered. And what mattered to Scum was finding the tomes. With a gesture involving movements more complex than her missing fingers looked capable of, the necromancer kissed the struggling souls of the dead with her gift. A newly dead rose, dripping and slopping in its own organs, the soul moaning in misery. A thread of will tied it close, tugging gently. Even this took effort and her lips worked in silent strain before a command whispered forth, dry and graven. “Show me where the vaults are.” 

Without the strength to struggle, with only its violent death left to it, the ruined slab that had once been a full human started to trundle forward. Scum followed it as the sound of Skadi’s violence grew distant. Her mind tunneled, muddling as she let the dead thing take her further into the reaches. And then...nothing? The twine was snapped with a casual effort that was not hers, unobstructed, cutting her off.  

“Allow me, child.” Vlad von Carstein rumbled, holding the bloody ruin then sliding it down his maw, whole.  

Scum stumbled out of the building, reeling and excited by the smell of destruction. It stung her nose, dusted across her skin as fine bone ash and slicked her feet as congealing blood. Three heavy tomes say against her chest, tied to her waist with the winding lengths of velvet and fine leather she kept as a belt. Where Vlad had gone the woman had no idea and perhaps it was best that way. A grin was splattered across her face, enjoying the pleased aura her master radiated. When she touched him his finery was all but soaked and tacky from the sheer amount of blood he was wearing. And indeed he was warm and his arteries thrilled with its false pulse.  

Awful thoughts reached her head. Of a bloody maw smothering her lips in a painful kiss, exhorting his new found strength upon her...within her. These thoughts were not helped by the fact that he was slathering praise upon her in an oily tone that made her shiver, his hand slicking blood across her scalp like he was attending to a favored pet. Was that what she was, then? His pet necromancer? Drunk on revenge, Scum was vaguely aware of the pain this thought would cause her later, but at the moment she could not care. Her home burned, her past and her tormentors all bellowing towards an uncaring, foggy sky. Mor would wail as souls were ripped from his embrace by her new master and then she would piss on the graves she made of her scars.  

Regret would be the ice that doused the fire, but oh, now she burned and it was glorious.


End file.
